Solitude
by Cinpii
Summary: [Ryoma x Sakuno. Non yaoi.] The warmth of his naked skin seeped into her palm. “Don’t,” she whispered…
1. Solitude

**Disclaimer:** Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. Not me. Please don't sue.

**Solitude**

By Cinpii

--sound effect--

**

* * *

**

--pok--

Things were confusing.

--pok--

Echizen Ryoma frowned as he drew his arm back and hit the tennis ball with careless precision.

--pok--

It was after hours, practice long since finished and the Seigaku tennis team scattered and gone.

--pok--

He should have been halfway home by now, he mused. The vivid streaks of violet and gray in the once baby blue sky were testament to the fact that darkness was descending. And yet Echizen Ryoma remained, racket in hand, robotically hitting the ball upon the same spot on the wall. Again and again and again.

--pok--

She was so confusing!

--pok--

He wondered how things had changed so much. How things became so wrong so fast.

--pok--

He got used to her face. And therein laid the source of his misery.

--pok--

He should have seen it coming. But he was never really perceptive about things like that. Things like… love.

--pok--

Was that what it was? That burning, insidious sensation that started out in his chest and ate away at him like a disease. That irritatingly unfamiliar feeling that crept upon him every time he saw her shy smile or heard her soft voice.

--pok--

She was nothing to him at first. Just another body, another face. Nothing special or striking at all really. Although in hindsight, he did concede that she was indeed quite pretty.

--pok--

Not that it ever really dawned on him. Tennis was his life. Annoying little girls were definitely not. Even if they were as cute as Ryuzaki Sakuno.

--pok--

He could remember her hands on his arm, the time she tried to drag him to the hospital during his match with Fudomine. His racket had shattered and the metal handle had ricocheted off the netting post and struck his face. It was only a cut above his eye, but nooo, she had to make a huge fuss and embarrass him in front of not only his teammates, but all the spectators too.

--pok--

Worse than that, she was interrupting a man-to-man match. That was such a total breech of court behavior; he was stunned by her audacity. Was it his fault if he snapped at her and hurt her feelings?

--pok--

So maybe he _was_ a little harsh. The sight of all that blood gushing down his face probably didn't look like a minor injury to anyone. Much less some dinky little girl who for some unfathomable reason, kept showing him kindness.

--pok--

It really was mind-boggling.

--pok--

Oh, he had won the match. And at the time, that was all that really mattered to him.

--pok--

He didn't regret the sharpness of his words or the curtness of his tone. She was merely showing him concern, but it was unwanted.

--pok--

At that time, she irritated him.

--pok--

So he never realized he missed her until she was no longer around. Funny. How did that saying go again? 'You never appreciate what you have until it's gone.' In his defense, he didn't even know there was something there.

--pok--

He really was absolutely clueless. If it wasn't about tennis, he was as blind as a mole feeling its way through the dark.

--pok--

Everything was his fault though. If there was one thing he was sure of about this whole confusing mess, it was that.

--pok--

It was his fault, because he had taken it for granted that no matter how badly he'd treat her, she would always be around.

--pok--

And now she wasn't.

--pok--

Their relationship was a strange one. He ignored her, and she kept coming back. He would barely acknowledge her existence, and she would grace him with a smile. He would walk away, and she would follow.

--pok--

The only time he ever really noticed her was during tennis practice. He noticed she sucked.

--pok--

They went to the same school, shared the same grade, and played the same sport. He saw her a good six days a week, and even more when their social circles overlapped. All that potential time together and the longest conversation he could recall was maybe ten words long. All that potential time together and he had not spared her a passing glance. She was like so much background noise to him, and he treated her as such.

--pok--

It wasn't like it was a conscious effort on his part to ignore her or something. Nothing malicious like that. She just didn't stand out. Didn't strike him in any particular fashion. Hell, the first day they met, he had spent the whole afternoon with her and he didn't even remember her face, much less her name.

--pok--

But slowly… things changed. She became more than another face in the crowd.

--pok--

She evolved into a persistent, annoying gnat. A bothersome insect that itched its way into his consciousness.

--pok--

And now her face wouldn't leave him alone. She had visibly stamped her presence into his mind, and nothing, not even his beloved tennis, could make her damn face go away.

--pok--

Thinking about it now, it probably started with their 'date'.

--pok--

It wasn't even his idea. It wasn't even a real date. He was coerced into it. Totally innocent, minding his own business, he got called over by Ryuzaki-sensei and next thing he knew, he was saddled with The Girl, to escort her through the city to get her racket restrung.

--pok--

Since when was that even remotely considered going on a date? Try to tell that to oyaji or Momo-senpai though.

--pok--

Hell, he didn't even WANT to go. Suckered to spend his Sunday babysitting the coach's granddaughter? No thanks!

--pok--

And she was 30 minutes late too. She had effectively killed off half an hour of his life making him wait at a noisy subway station, bored to death.

--pok--

So whose fault was it if things started off on the wrong foot? Not his! He was doing _her_ the favor. She could at least be punctual.

--pok--

But as the day wore on, it didn't turn out to be so bad. Racket restrung, they went to the park to practice her forearm swings. After she got over her initial clumsiness, it wasn't so bad at all. When she wasn't self conscious, her form was good and she held promise. He recalled actually being pleased about that.

--pok--

They had practiced a lot longer than he expected. Afterwards, he could have just walked her back to the station and then return home himself, but for some reason, he was loath to relinquish her company. The sun wasn't quite setting yet, but it was almost six pm. So he suggested going to a burger joint for dinner.

--pok--

Although conversation was sparse, it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. When she didn't talk, she wasn't so bad. And when she did, well, her voice wasn't as grating as Horio's. It was actually soft spoken and sweet. He liked it. It was pleasant, soothing. It held an almost musical quality to it. He recalled thinking that she probably possessed a nice singing voice.

--pok--

They passed the park on the way towards the station. She thanked him and he was surprised when she went back to the tennis courts to practice some more. She was at the wall, struggling to hit the ball for more than five consecutive counts.

--pok--

She had thought he left, but he didn't. He was observing her the whole while with a tiny smile. Her perseverance was… intriguing.

--pok--

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but it was dark when she glanced at the sky in surprise. It was way past time to go home. She had looked at her watch in panic and made her way to the station.

--pok--

It wasn't exactly safe for a pretty, unassuming girl like her to be wandering the city at night. So he followed her. It wasn't a conscious thought, it just happened. Besides, if they met trouble, he was fairly confident that he could protect her. He wasn't the prince of tennis for nothing, ya know. He knew how to wield a racket, they doubled as nifty weapons.

--pok--

Everything was going fine, except she got lost.

--pok--

After following her around for a futile fifteen minutes, he was seriously reconsidering his evaluation of her. Ryuzaki Sakuno was a ditz.

--pok--

Maybe ditz was too harsh, but she definitely needed help in the navigation department.

--pok--

They weren't getting anywhere the way she was going – namely circles – so he took the situation in his own hands. He casually tapped her head with the sweet spot of his racket. The reaction on her face was priceless.

--pok--

He didn't want her to know he was following her around. It wasn't like he was _concerned_ about her or something. Nothing idiotic like that. It was just his… duty. Yeah, that was it. Coach entrusted her in his care, so it was his job to look out for her. It was just his duty to see her home safe. The tightening of his gut told him otherwise. But he had pushed that pesky feeling aside.

--pok--

Not wanting to give her the wrong idea, he lied. Said he was doing some errands and saw her as she passed by. She took him at face value, and he felt a faint pang of guilt for taking advantage of her naivety. She was wholly too trusting.

--pok--

It was a good thing she wasn't his type, or he'd be worried. Innocence like that could get you in trouble.

--pok--

Not that he really had a type. He wasn't into girls. They were dumb and silly. Annoying creatures that never stopped fawning over him. He had a fan club to prove it.

--pok--

So he walked her to the station, and ended up walking her home too. Turned out she only lived three blocks from his temple. Who knew?

--pok--

And in retrospect,

--pok--

He actually had fun.

--pok--

But he had never let on. And when his friends, namely Horio and Momo-senpai, teased him about his 'date', he said something that he still regretted to this present day. Something along the lines of, "That girl? Why would I want to date her?"

--pok--

He hadn't meant it in a cruel way. He wasn't one to really talk smack, but the goading was hitting too close to home. He truly didn't mean anything by it.

--pok--

Too bad she heard.

--pok--

Home baked cookies wrapped in a cute pink handkerchief dropped to the floor from numb-less hands. Without a word, she spun and fled, twin mahogany pigtails flying after her. And in that instant, he knew he fucked up big time.

--pok--

He should have gone after her, but he didn't. He regretted that too.

--pok--

That was when she started avoiding him.

--pok--

And the days marched by and turned into weeks.

--pok--

Three weeks and five days, but who was counting?

--pok--

She never went to anymore of his matches. Sure, she attended team games. She cheered on his teammates. But when it was his turn to play, he couldn't feel her presence at all.

--pok--

It… hurt.

--pok--

He had gotten used to her unwavering support. Her quiet faith in him. He had gotten used to it and expected it.

--pok--

So not having it strangely… hurt. A lot.

--pok--

It took him a while to finally figure it out.

--pok--

He liked her.

--pok--

He, Echizen Ryoma, rising prodigy in the tennis world, liked a nobody like Ryuzaki Sakuno.

--pok--

It was truly unfathomable.

--pok--

She sucked at tennis. Royally, with a capital R.

--pok--

And she was so weak. So easily bullied. It seemed her only strength was how rapidly she apologized, and for things that weren't even her fault.

--pok--

But…

--pok--

Believe it or not, he liked her anyways. And it hurt knowing she didn't reciprocate the feeling.

--pok--

The heart really was a strange thing. It wasn't logical like the brain. No, it acted without thinking and left him confused and bothered. It made his pulse unsteady whenever he caught a glimpse of her and left his palms slick and sweaty.

--pok--

It was affecting his tennis, and that, Echizen Ryoma simply could not allow.

--pok--

He'd have to do something about it, and soon.

--pok--

But until he could come up with a plan, he wasn't sure what he'd do. Ryoma heaved a little sigh as he swung again, the sound of the fuzzy green ball making a satisfying noise against the wall.

--pok--

Things were confusing.


	2. Healing

**Disclaimer:** Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. Not me. Please don't sue.

**AN:** Thank you. I cannot say that enough. This is for you all. RyoSaku rules! There will be more fics on this pairing from me, so look for it.

Enjoy.

**Healing**

By Cinpii

--sound effect--

* * *

--bam--

"Ryoma-kun no baka," Sakuno muttered as she swung her racket with more force than necessary.

--bam--

"Take that."

--bam--

"And that."

--bam--

"And that."

--bambambam--

"And that!" Ryuzaki Sakuno sucked in a deep breath and swung her racket with all the strength her young, feminine body could muster.

--BAM--

In a smooth, nonchalant manner, one that told of honed reflexes due to countless experience dodging self-inflicted missiles, she calmly moved her head to the right, narrowly missing the flying green projectile that whizzed by her ear.

The pretty girl sighed in exasperation as she ran slim fingers through silky mahogany colored bangs. Grr... that was the third ball she'd have to fetch since coming to the wall to practice. Her small hand tightened around the thick handle of her racket, knuckles turning white by the force of the unrelenting grip.

With an irritated huff, she pivoted and started her search, marching across the concrete and then through the short clipped grass to where the first ball lay. Two neatly braided pigtails bounced lightly against her polo-clad torso and cascaded over her shoulders. The ends tickled her bare thighs as she squat down to fetch the errant fuzzy sphere.

Looking upon the object in her hands, delicate pink lips tightened into a firm line. A slender eyebrow irked in displeasure at the small cap adorned caricature that irritatingly smirked back at her.

Ugh, what was she thinking when she drew that?

It was a cute idea at the time, Sakuno recalled, back when she and Tomo-chan pooled their money to buy a pair of tennis balls. To mark them, Sakuno, in her stupid puppy love brilliance, had drawn chibi Ryoma faces on them. They had giggled at the time, enjoying their mutual infatuation with the same boy. They had looked at the balls with fondness.

Now, looking at the balls only served to irritate her. She did not like to be reminded of the time when she was so foolishly smitten over the cocky jerk. On the other hand, Sakuno derived a wicked sense of pleasure out of literally smacking Echizen Ryoma in the face.

It was an outlet for her, a way to release her pent up frustration. Pounding tennis balls against the wall was immensely satisfying. Ironically, not only did it relieve her ire, all that practice was improving her technique.

That was, when she could concentrate long enough to hit the balls properly, and not whack at them angrily. When she was focused, her form was easy and natural. Distracted was a different story.

Today was not her day it seemed. Her focus was off and it was all his fault. Sakuno closed her eyes and sat back on her heels, thinking back to what had happened that day so long ago. No matter what she did, it always came back to that day. Part of her wished that she had never overheard his careless words, but the other part of her was grateful that she had. It was better to have one's illusions shattered sooner than later, she thought. It was less painful that way.

And they were certainly illusions, Sakuno mused, breathing deeply and getting up. She strode to where her second ball lay. This one had gone much further than the first and was quite a distance away.

She felt so stupid thinking back on that day, and vowed that she would never again let herself be so vulnerable. Because it _hurt._ It hurt so much.

Unbidden, tears welled up and Sakuno angrily dashed them aside. Why was she crying?! He wasn't worth her tears, she told herself over and over as the liquid crystals ran faster down her smooth cheeks.

He was just a dumb boy and she was just a silly girl for falling for him. But no matter how many times Sakuno would tell herself that, it did not lessen the pain in her heart. The pain that Echizen Ryoma created.

Not even one month had passed, but things had changed. Irrevocably, and she would not have it any other way. She was stronger now, her innocent heart shattered that day so long ago...

Was it really just a month? It felt so much longer than that. She had changed in such a short amount of time. She had become harder, more jaded. Having one's heart crushed so carelessly tended to do that. It made the victim more wary of showing their emotions lest they be trodden upon again.

Sakuno was by no means a spiteful creature, but she embodied the phrase 'once bitten, twice shy' to the letter. Never again would she offer her heart to someone unless she was sure her feelings were returned. It just hurt too much.

She recalled the day before her world had turned upside down. It was a Saturday, practice was ending and the freedom of the rest of the weekend was looming near. Obaachan had promised her for weeks that she would take her to the city to get her racket restrung. Sakuno had eagerly looked forward to it, counting the days. It wasn't often that Obaachan had free time to spend with her so each moment was coveted.

It was a big deal to get one's racket restrung. To loosen the strings so much that they loss their original tension spoke volumes of one's ability. It was Sakuno's first time ever, and she was excited. She had practiced so many hours, gotten so many blisters, but it was worth it. She could tell that she was getting better, and the satisfaction was gratifying.

She had been so disappointed when Obaachan couldn't make it. But then her grandmother did something that Sakuno never thought she would. Part of her died from the embarrassment, but the other part was secretly overjoyed.

Obaachan called Ryoma over and made him take her place. Sakuno was shocked at first, then frantic. She was going to spend one on one time with _Echizen Ryoma_ and she was stunned. To be alone with him, the person her young heart had pined after for so long, it was just brain numbing.

She thought of all the hours in a day he must have spent practicing, playing, _breathing_ tennis to get to the level he was at. To be so _good_ at something, to excel in something and make it all your own, she was simply awed by it. Here was a kid, a boy her age, and he was already so far advanced, his talent so out of reach.

Part of the reason she had liked him so much was because she looked up to him. It amazed her how someone her age could possess such incredible skill. It made her want that same fire she saw in his eyes. She took up tennis not to get close to him, (although that didn't hurt) but so that she could understand him better.

She wanted to know about this mysterious boy. She had so many questions for him. She wanted to know what he liked and disliked, what his hopes and goals were, why he played tennis, and what drove him. What made him tick? What made him practice for hours on end? And it surely must have been, to be playing at the level he was at.

What drove him to be so great? She thought that if she played tennis, she might be able to understand him just the tiniest bit. It would be something they could connect over, bond over maybe.

She was inexorably drawn to him and she liked the feelings he invoked in her. It was the first time she met someone who made her heart palpitate the way it did when he was near and Sakuno liked the feeling.

She did not spend much time with him. Admiring him quietly suited her just fine. She was not as outspoken as Tomo-chan and she didn't want to be. Sakuno was content nursing her one sided infatuation and grateful just for the chance to know someone as great as Echizen Ryoma. Though her heart yearned for more, it was happy with the rare tidbits of kindness that he tossed her. She had cherished each and every word he said to her and if she followed him, it was because she wanted to bask in his radiance.

She had no illusions that he would ever notice her, she was not special. She did not stand out. She was not as pretty or witty or outgoing as Tomo-chan. She was klutzy and shy and gave bad directions.

He rarely spoke to her, and whenever he did, it was because she had initiated the conversation. They had never had chats just for the sake of talking; she was not so interesting that he would care to know more about her.

Tomo-chan was an excellent cook and she was not afraid of voicing her opinions. If she didn't have to always baby-sit her brothers, she would be awesome in tennis. Tomoko had a natural flair for sports and it was a shame that she did not have the free time to develop the skill.

Sakuno did not have anything to offer at all. She was not especially pretty and she could be almost painfully shy and demure. She was too klutzy to ever be really good in any kind of sport, and although she did relatively well in her academics (except English, Sakuno thought, she stunk in English), she would never be a genius like Inui-senpai.

But it called to her somehow. Maybe she didn't have an innate sense, she wasn't gifted with uncanny tennis skills, but she was willing to work hard to gain them. Then maybe he would notice her in her own right. Not because she was the coach's granddaughter or because she was one of the many other freshman that fawned over him, but because she could be strong too. Never as good as him, but she was willing to try, and try hard.

He inspired her, amazed her, and he did it all so effortlessly. She thought that maybe some of that essence would rub off, make her special too, just by being near him.

She didn't really count on falling for him. It just happened. He was charismatic in an unrefined, aloof sort of way, and it intrigued her. He didn't want the attention, would often walk away or remain silent when the mood struck him, and he never sought company. Company sought him.

His mannerisms touched on just the slightest side of rude, he could be so cocky. Everything came so easy to him. He did well in English and science, her two hardest subjects, aside from math. He was a genius when it came to tennis, and he was never alone unless he chose to be.

When she took up the sport, it would be something they would have in common and she would be that much closer to him. Of course, she knew she was being silly, but she couldn't help wanting to be similar to someone she looked up to.

Looked up to and fell for.

She had been so happy to spend time with him, even if it was incidental. But it was all for naught. Her mistake was making too much of it and taking too much time dressing. Tomo-chan had unnerved her, proclaiming their outing as a 'date' and she was shaken by it. There was nothing wrong with wanting to look nice, but having Tomo-chan call such a silly thing as going to get her racket restrung a date just pulled the rug from beneath her.

Things had started off very badly, but it was her fault. He was irritated at her for not being punctual and he showed it. Not with words, but his actions spoke clearly. She trailed behind him too shamed-faced with guilt. What an awful impression to make, she had thought, and repeatedly kicked herself.

But then things got better. They practiced in the park and she really enjoyed herself. She thought that Ryoma enjoyed himself too, for there was the tiniest of smirks ghosting his lips.

She was surprised yet pleased when he suggested dinner. Never had she imagined spending this much time with him. She had thought that he would help her get her racket restrung and that would be it. But now she was going to have dinner with him and it made her happy.

When they headed back to the station after their impromptu meal, she had been too wound up to just go home. So she practiced some more. She was so caught up in what she was doing that she lost track of time. Before long, the sun had set and she belatedly realized just how late it was. Obaachan would be worried.

In her panicked, flustered state, she got lost trying to find the station. She wasn't sure what to do. She was thinking that she should find a payphone when something hit her on the head and interrupted her musings.

Ryoma.

She turned around only to find him standing there with an un-amused expression. She was surprised to see him for she had thought he left for home an hour ago. Nonetheless, she was happy for the company and directional guidance.

He was quiet, but Sakuno had learned that being quiet was just his way. Ryoma was not one to blather endlessly about mundane topics and after she got over her unease, Sakuno found it somewhat refreshing. Tomo-chan was a chatterbox and Sakuno was used to having dialogue.

But walking side by side with Ryoma, it was peaceful and silent and just... nice. It was then that Sakuno realized that one did not need to have conversation to share a meaningful moment together.

He walked her home and it was just so, so _amazing_. So unbelievably amazing. He did not stay, it was late and tomorrow was a school day.

She hummed all throughout her bath and as she was brushing out her long hair, it occurred to her that she forgot to say 'thank you'. She had been so pleased and flustered that it slipped her mind. To correct her blunder, she decided to bake him some cookies.

He had done something nice for her and she wanted to return the favor. He had sacrificed his Sunday for her, the one day they did not have classes or tennis practice, and he spent it with her. Uncomplainingly, though she knew he must have had reservations.

It had taken her so long to bake those cookies. She was not a good cook, but she had tried. She had slaved over those cookies, pouring into it all her effort and gratitude. It was not easy. The first batch had burnt into smoldering unrecognizable charcoal discs.

When the second batch was ready, in her haste to take the tray out of the oven (she was afraid the cookies would burn again), she had singed her fingers and dropped them all over the kitchen floor. But the third batch, oh, the third batch was perfect. Beautiful, perfectly shaped, and not too sweet, for she knew he did not like overly sweet things.

She was so happy thinking about what his reaction might be. Would he smile at her maybe? Would he think of her when he ate those cookies that she had spent so much time making from scratch? He would at least be a little bit surprised and maybe even pleased when she gave him the treats. She wanted to see his eyes when they widened. Even if it was for just a fraction of a second, she would know that she was the cause of it. It would make injuring her hands worth it.

It was almost midnight by the time she was done. She had wrapped the cookies lovingly in her prettiest handkerchief, giddily planning the best time to approach him. She would give it to him when he was alone, she didn't have enough guts to do it in front of a crowd. They didn't share any classes together so that ruled out that.

Lunch time was too crowded and he sat a different table. During practice was also a no, but if she hurried, she might catch him before he left for home. He might even offer to walk her back, like he did that night.

So after they were dismissed from practice, she had rushed to change and then find him. She was disappointed to see him talking to his tennis buddies, but suddenly, she just had to get the task out of the way. If she dawdled any longer, she feared her courage would abandon her.

As casually as possible, ignoring the butterflies in her belly, Sakuno approached him. The pounding of her nervous heart was so loud, she didn't register what they were saying until she was almost upon them, and by then, it was too late.

Horio's loud, obnoxious voice had complained about Ryoma's 'date' with her and it was a wonder how anyone in the surrounding vicinity did not hear his grating whines. Momo was also loitering, pumping Ryoma for information.

In clear, disinterested tones, he had shattered her heart. "That girl? Who would date her?" The words rang like bells and repeated over and over in her mind like a vicious broken record.

It had hurt. She knew it was irrational, it wasn't a real date. It wasn't even his idea. He was just doing something coach asked him to do, namely escort the girl who easily got lost into the city to get her racket restrung. But in the back of her mind, she had thought that he had enjoyed himself just a little bit, because she had too. She was so obviously wrong, so utterly stupid.

Why would _he_ care to hang around _her_? All he was asked to do was essentially baby-sit, and he did it. So why did it hurt so much?

Why did it still hurt, after all this time? Sakuno sniffed and scrubbed her cheeks viciously with the back of her fists.

_Stop crying. Stop thinking about him._

It helped when she didn't see him, so she did just that. She avoided him at every opportunity. Sakuno was not a quitter and was not going to give up on tennis. She liked it. She was also not going to stop supporting her teammates, but that didn't mean she had to stick around and cheer him on. He had plenty of supporters. Tomo-chan was his biggest fan. One less groupie wouldn't even make a dent.

Her absence would not even be noticed. He never did give her the time of day anyway. It was time to end her girlish fantasies. A person who was as indifferent as Ryoma was to Sakuno didn't deserve her affections.

At least, that was what she kept telling herself. But even after all this time, deep in her heart, she knew she still liked him. It was frustrating. She did not welcome the warm feelings that suffocated her when he was concerned.

Her first brush with love _sucked_ and she wasn't looking forward to a repeat encounter anytime soon. She was vowing boys off for a long time and the only productive release she could find was through a racket.

So here she was. Everyday. Obaachan didn't mind, she encouraged and supported her, pleased that Sakuno was taking tennis so seriously. She didn't know the real reason behind her granddaughter's sudden intense interest in improving her skill, and that was fine with Sakuno.

The wall she was using was a good distance away from the tennis courts. Seigaku was a large school and Sakuno had accidentally stumbled upon the abandoned area on one her lost expeditions. The walls were parts of old tool sheds that were now used for storage since the newer ones were more favorable. She was flanked on three sides by the grey weather-beaten structures with the open baseball outfield behind her.

It was a gem of a find. Good shade and extreme solitude. No one walked by this part of the school. In the days after that last interaction with Ryoma, Sakuno did not feel like socializing much and this was her haven.

She could practice without feeling self-conscious. She could rant under her breath whenever the mood struck and no one would be around to observe. She was so tired of keeping up the façade of carefree happiness. Of pretending that nothing bothered her. She would not have those around her worry, so she wore a cheerful mask even though she was hurting inside.

Here, she was free to just be Ryuzaki Sakuno and it felt good.

The braided girl got up and searched for her third ball. She only had three so she could not afford to lose any. Tomo-chan and she split the balls they had bought together. For a long time, Sakuno had only one ball to practice with. It was just this past week when she had saved enough pocket money to go buy another can. To mark them, she had drawn daisies. They matched the flower barrette she often wore in her hair.

She fingered the sweatband she was currently wearing for practice, her eyes shifting from left to right. Where _was_ that dratted ball? Looking upon the empty outfield, the vast stretch of grassy land, Sakuno stopped and just stared.

The sun was setting and it was beautiful. The streaks of violet and pink blending with the darkening blues and grays soothed the tension from her body. The lines on her face relaxed, her breathing easy and slow. It had been a while since she last took pleasure in something so sweet and simple.

Sakuno took in a deep breath, one that swelled out her chest and arched her spine. She stretched out her arms and because she could, flung her racket and balls to the side and twirled.

Her braids flew out and her short tennis skirt flared, baring even more of her slim legs. She twirled and spun until she was too dizzy to go on, laughing all the while. She collapsed in a heap and then laid spread eagle in the soft grass, her chest heaving and her gasps short and uneven.

It felt good to be free, to be silly and childish and not have to worry about what others thought. She was so tired of always being nice. Always being dutiful. Always being quiet.

She was all those things, but she did not like being pigeonholed. She was not a two dimensional character and she railed against the thought. She was sweet, but she could also be very stubborn and very determined when she wanted to be.

She was introverted and shy at times, but was that such a bad thing? That simply meant that she took things at her own pace, and if it was slower than others, so be it.

Sakuno inhaled the crisp clean scent of nature and closed her eyes. She had spent more energy then she intended pounding her frustration out with the innocent balls. Fatigue was setting in. Ire spent, the adrenaline rush was gone and she was getting sleepy. Her breathing slowed and her head lolled to the side.

A little nap sounded really good about now. Just a short rest to replenish her energy supply. She'd hurry home soon. A jog would be good for her. Kaidoh-senpai jogged all the time, and his stamina was something to be aspired.

Sakuno yawned and fell asleep. For once, thoughts of a boy with cat shaped eyes did not plague her mind.


	3. Chance

**Disclaimer:** Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. Not me. Please don't sue.

**AN:** Wow. What was intended as a one shot has now sprouted into a series. Thank you for taking the time to read my work. As always, comments and criticisms are welcome.

Enjoy.

**Chance**

By Cinpii

* * *

It was getting really dark now, Ryoma thought as he paused from his present activity and looked up into the black sky. The looming clouds swathed the luminosity of the moon, blocking out beams of light. They looked menacing and angry. They warned of impending rain.

_Damn. _

That was one thing he didn't like about Tokyo. The sudden rain. Spring was almost over, making way for summer, but every now and then, sporadic showers would attack.

He'd have to hurry home, which was too bad. Hitting balls against a wall helped him think, and he had stayed after practice for that precise reason. He needed something to occupy his hands. Something mindless and automatic.

He was nowhere closer to the answer of his dilemma and it frustrated him. What was he going to do about Ryuzaki Sakuno?

Ryoma stifled the oncoming sigh and cracked his neck, enjoying the popping of joints. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms to ease the stiffness. He'd been practicing nonstop. His mind was too preoccupied for reason to tell him that he should have taken a break three hours ago. He could be stubborn like that, and when he was, his good logic failed him.

Girls were too damn confusing, Ryoma muttered under his breath as he bent down to open his bag. He stored his racket away in the roomy confines and shrugged into his windbreaker. It was getting a little chilly. He'd have to hurry.

As far as coming home late, Ryoma had a lot of freedom in that department. It wasn't as if his parents didn't care (okay, maybe Nanjiroh wouldn't) but that they didn't worry. He had proven himself time and time again that he was capable of taking care of himself and did not need his hand held like a little kid. Ryoma was independent and his time in America reinforced that trait in him.

But it wouldn't do to get caught in the downpour. He had enough problems. He did not need a cold on top of things.

The short boy looked across the open baseball field. It was dark with the moon so obscured. He knew that he should probably stick to lighted paths, but the field was a direct shortcut to his temple. Though the sky was looking as ominous as it was, Ryoma decided to chance it.

Breaking into a light jog, he made it halfway across the empty stretch of land before it started pouring. Too late to turn back and seek protection from the campus buildings, he kept going.

Cat shaped eyes squinted in the pattering rain, making out vague shapes in the distance. They were the closest things to sanctuary at the moment, and so the boy made his way there, taking care not to slip in the slick grass.

* * *

Sakuno stirred from her sleep, the back of her hand reaching up to rub at her face. Something tickled her cheek. Something wet.

She wondered groggily why it was raining in her room. Dazed eyes blinked sleepily as another drop of wetness hit her other cheek. Slowly her eyes gained focus. Everything was black.

How weird. Her eyes were open, and she wasn't in her room. If she was, she'd be lying in her bed, and this did not feel like her soft cotton comforter.

Another drop of wetness hit her bare arm. More and more sprinkled upon her exposed legs and Sakuno froze, the reality of the situation seizing her.

Reddish brown eyes widened. With a jolt, she sat up, slapping her cheeks simultaneously with both palms.

She'd overslept!

She was still in the grassy field near her hideout and she'd overslept. The pigtailed girl rapped her fist on her head. How utterly scatterbrained of her.

"Sakuno no baka," she berated herself as she scrambled to gather her things. Where were those darn tennis balls? If left out in the rain, they'd get waterlogged and ruined.

They were still new, darn it.

Weeks of effort spent saving up her meager pocket change would go straight down the drain if she didn't rescue them now. The distraught girl got on her knees and patted the ground, looking much like a nearly blind person looking for their glasses. There wasn't much difference, it was so dark. She could hardly see more than a couple of feet in front of her.

Her hand grasped something solid. Her racket. This was good, this meant she was looking in the correct direction. Sakuno crawled over more and found the first ball easily. She found the second ball by accident, it brushed her knee.

By now the rain was coming down harder and she was getting soaked. The back of her thin polo shirt clung to her body wetly. It felt uncomfortable sticking to her in such a fashion. Sakuno staggered up and jogged towards shelter.

The old tool sheds.

Her braids hung limply and her bangs were plastered to her forehead by the time she got there. Her sweatband was soaked with rainwater and she took it off, wringing the elastic terrycloth dry. She would stay here and wait out the elements. It was safer that way.

Sakuno leaned back into one of the wooden walls of the three sheds, trying to stay as covered as possible. She was pressed against the lee side of the building, but the wind seemed to blow in all directions and no matter what the small girl did, it was cold and getting colder.

Rain, go away, she pleaded. The young girl swallowed. Hard.

It looked like she would have to wait it out.

* * *

Ryoma was jogging as fast as he could without slipping on the wet grass. He slid once or twice and had to go slower. If he sprained something, then he'd be stuck with an injury _and_ a cold, and he wasn't so foolish to risk his health to that degree.

His next step was on something hard and mobile. It jutted out of the ground and interrupted his stride. It was probably a rock, but his curiosity chose a weird time to rear its head. Frowning, the boy bent down.

_Hn._ It was a ball. From the feel of it, a tennis ball. Not a baseball like he would have assumed.

What was a tennis ball doing so far away from the courts? The boy idly pondered the thought as he absentmindedly pocketed the sphere in his jacket.

He continued on. It was getting more difficult, the wind was pushing him in the opposite direction he wanted to go. The distant lights of the city did not reach this far into the outfield. It was like wearing an opaque blindfold. If he squinted hard enough, he could see, but not very well.

With each laborious step, the vague buildings became more distinct and he hurried once again. Rain rolled down the synthetic nylon of his Seigaku windbreaker in rivulets. The jacket was doing a decent job keeping him dry and that was all he cared about. Being cold was one thing, wet and cold was so much worse. Ryoma ducked his cap-adorned head and walked faster, flipping his collar to protect his neck.

Lightening struck somewhere off in the distance, then thunder rumbled. He jerked his head up sharply when he heard the whimper.

* * *

Sakuno bit her lip and tried not to panic. She did not like thunder, it made her uneasy. Being out in the elements like this was down right scary and the young girl couldn't help feeling small and alone.

A louder roll of thunder abraded her ears and she sat with her back against the rough surface of the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. A whimper escaped her and she hugged herself harder, wishing for someone to save her.

The name left her lips in an unconscious plea. In her flustered state, she did not even register that she voiced the quiet whisper.

"Ryoma-kun…"

* * *

He found her huddling against the wall and at first he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. All that thinking of her was addling his brain, so he shook his head to clear it.

Lightening flashed again and Ryoma couldn't deny it. His eyes were not messing with his sanity. That pitiful huddle of a girl really was Ryuzaki Sakuno. His eyebrow twitched in displeasure, inexplicable fury rising in him.

_What the hell was she doing out here_?

"Oi!" he called out to her, ten yards away. The snap of her head indicated that she heard him. He strode over to her with angry stomps, his face as dark as his sudden temper.

"Ryoma-kun?" she mouthed, blinking her eyes disbelievingly. Hope flared in her heart. He came for her? How in the world did he know?

She got up slowly, her hands clutching her chest. Her lips moved to say his name again, but they were interrupted by his words.

"Baka! What the _hell_ are you doing here?" he asked harshly, his tone rough and informal. He had the incredible urge to shake her, he was so pissed.

Large reddish brown eyes widened with hurt, confusion swimming in their depths.

"I – I…" words failed her. Here he was, her savior, and she was struck dumb when it really counted.

_Bakabakabaka, _Sakuno mentally berated herself.

He took a deep, settling breath. His capricious temper surprised him. Ryoma's emotions swirled as wildly as the untamed wind and he capped them with sheer willpower. Seeing her there, looking so small and scared, he just blew up. It was extremely out of character for him. He was confused as to why it bothered him so much, seeing her like that.

_You like her._

The short boy inhaled again, calming himself. He reasoned his behavior by blaming it on fluctuating hormones. _Damn adolescence_, he thought as his blood cooled.

With effort, he gentled his voice so she would not think that he was angry. The deliberately spoken words came out in his normal tone.

"What are you doing here?"

"Practicing," Sakuno responded lamely. She jabbed her thumb into the surface behind her. "Wall practice."

Part of him wanted to ask for clarification but his good logic kicked into gear. Ryoma briefly shook his head. Such curiosities would have to wait. They needed to get out of the rain. The shelter of the sheds were flimsy, the overhang of the roofs nonexistent.

"Is there any way inside these buildings?"

She blinked, surprised. She had never tried entering the structures. There was no reason to before and Sakuno was not one to trespass. With the rain and thunder mucking up her reason, the thought had never occurred to her to seek the shelter the tool sheds could provide inside. She ducked her head, overcome with embarrassment. He must have thought her utterly incompetent.

"Ano… I don't know," she whispered.

There was a pause as her words sunk in. He would have given her a look but decided not to bother. She was looking at her clenched fists. It would have been wasted.

The rain was now coming down in sheets, hard and almost painful as they struck the exposed portion of his neck. A river of wetness snaked past his collar before becoming absorbed in the material of his shirt.

They needed to find access, and fast.

"Wait here," he ordered. He did not need her wandering around in the dark while he searched for a place for them to stay.

His strides were sure and steady, each step filled with purpose. Ryoma walked around the perimeter of the shed, looking for entry. He found it on the west side and tested the lever that served as a handle. It was locked.

He strode to the adjacent shed and tried that handle as well. It also did not budge and he was getting frustrated. The rain was coming down harder and harder and he was shivering now. The last shed's handle turned slightly and the boy smiled. When it stopped at a quarter turn, he cursed.

There was an undercurrent of urgency threading the air. If it was just him, he'd be okay. He could tough it out. But Sakuno would not fare as well. She was already cold, wet, and shaking. An unbidden image of the thoroughly soaked and miserable girl flashed in his mind and Ryoma bent down to take off his bag. Taking out his oldest racket, he whammed the butt of it against the lever in one sure blow.

A dull click greeted his ears and Ryoma jerked at the heavy wooden door. It opened with a protesting groan. Musty air rushed at his face and he coughed, sputtering.

Lightening flashed, briefly illuminating the contents of the small shed. Vague shapes and distorted shadows greeted his eyes, but he had seen enough. The shed was filled with old gym equipment. The blue floor mats in the far corner caught his eye.

Turning around he left to fetch his unexpected companion. Ryoma had barely taken two steps before he bumped into something wet and soft. He heard her yelp as she landed on her backside. The bag in her arms fell from her grasp.

Sakuno winced as she tried to get up. She had landed in a shallow puddle and her skirt was dreadfully soaked. It didn't make much difference for she was already drenched from the pouring rain. Yet sitting in a cold pool of murky water felt absolutely horrid and she certainly did not enjoy it.

"I told you to stay put," Ryoma reprimanded as he extended an arm to help her up. He let out an irritated breath and jerked his shoulder. "Get inside."

Pausing to grab their bags, Ryoma hurried inside as well and swiftly closed the door. The wind pushed against the wood and aided his efforts, slamming the door with a finality that resounded in the small confines of the structure.

Sakuno stood in the dark atmosphere and shivered. Although it was blessedly dry, it was still cold in here. Cold and dark. She did not like her inability to see anything in the constricting enclosure and would have felt claustrophobic if she wasn't so darn jittery.

She was stuck in a small space with Echizen Ryoma and escape was not a viable option anytime in the near future. Small tremors wracked her petite frame. She wasn't sure if it was from the temperature or his proximity.

Strong palms gently pushed her forward and they walked carefully for five paces before he stopped. Something snagged at her calf and she winced. The obscure object creaked in protest, jarred from its original position. Jangling metal clacked together in a discordant cacophony before the air fell silent once again.

"Careful. Not much room here," he cautioned.

As if she couldn't tell. But she was unbalanced. She couldn't quell the sudden tingles that spread from her shoulder blades and straight down her spine. Ryoma's touch was making her movements more clumsy than normal.

"You're shivering," his quiet voice rumbled in her ear. "Are you cold?"

"H-hai," she murmured meekly, uncomfortable with the enforced situation she found herself in. Who could predict that she would be stranded in a tiny dark shed with the prince of tennis on a cold, rainy night? The little building measured 10 x 12 feet in size, but with all the clutter, it felt much, much smaller.

Shifting and shuffling met her ears, then the sound of a zipper. Something dry and slightly rough draped over her head. It would have obscured her sight if she could see in the pitch-blackness. It was darker in here than it was outside and she could not see at all. There were no windows and the small air vents permitted zero light.

Automatically, her small hands reached up to touch the material.

_A towel?_

"It's the best I got," Ryoma explained as he unzipped his jacket and shucked it off. He shivered as well. It was freezing in here!

Sakuno pressed the dry cloth to her face. Ryoma's musky scent caressed her senses. It was intimate in a way she couldn't describe and she couldn't stop the blush that heated her cheeks.

More shifting met her ears. His muffled voice floated from somewhere around waist level. It was as if he was bending down to take off his shorts.

"What are you waiting for? Take off your wet clothes."

Too flabbergasted by his calm statement, Sakuno merely stood there and gaped. She was drenched from head to foot. The only parts of her body remotely dry were her feet and even they were getting wet. The rainwater from her body streamed down her legs and soaked the fabric of her socks. Excess water coalesced in a puddle where she stood.

"Ano… Ryoma-kun," Sakuno's words were tentative and quiet. The towel in her hands twisted unduly from the unconscious display of nervousness. There was a pregnant pause as he waited for her to continue. She did not.

"What?" He asked, slight irritation coloring his tone. What was so hard about taking off a few articles of clothing? She wasn't so foolish as to keep them on, was she? Everyone knew that remaining in wet clothes in a cold environment was just asking for trouble.

"Ryoma-kun, I'm wet all over."

"What?" This time, his voice was laced with surprise. He knew she was in the rain, he knew she was dripping wet, but the implication of his words did not hit home until just then.

She looked down at her hands, although she could not see them. "I fell down in a puddle, so…" Embarrassed beyond belief, Sakuno could not even bring herself to complete the sentence.

"You're wet. All over." Now Ryoma's voice faltered. He could not suppress the heated blush that sprang upon his features. It was a good thing there was no light source in the cramped space they were forced to share.

"Hai," she answered softly. Sakuno bit her lip and cursed herself, not for the first time, for falling asleep.

Another long pause ensued.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, the world continued spinning, and the earth's inhabitants continued on with their daily lives. Inside the shed, time seemed to freeze.


	4. Turbulence

**Disclaimer:** Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. A certain idea in this chapter was inspired by a scene from the POT doujinshi 'Kokoro ga tsuite yu kanai'. Neither belongs to me. Please don't sue.

**Turbulence**

By Cinpii

* * *

It was cold, harsh, and it roamed the night. Cornering innocent victims, it attacked under the cover of darkness. Hungry. Insatiable. It swept the land with frightening thoroughness. 

Wild animals ducked for cover. Some burrowed deeper into their lairs. Some tucked their feathered heads underneath a wing.

It was known to be mercurial. There were times where it was gentle and soothing, compassionately laying a sweet caress upon the skin. Tonight was not one of those times. It was in a foul mood.

People peeked out from the comfort of their homes. Many thanked their gods that they were not ensnarled in nature's display of omnipotent violence.

It was wind, and it brought along with it the sharp taste of rain. It drove down in penetrating sheets, hard and unyielding as it assaulted the environment. Nothing was spared. Trees, grass, asphalt, buildings. Nothing escaped its fury.

Not even two occupants in an obscure tool shed.

The abominable weather was on everyone's mind. Everyone except the same two occupants whose thoughts were currently definitely not on anything occurring outside.

* * *

She was wet all over. 

It was just one thought, one simple little fact, but it swirled in his mind, revolving round and round, reluctant to let him go. Unconsciously Ryoma's Adam's apple bobbed up, then down, a direct correlation to his swallowing reflex.

She was wet all over.

Distantly he could hear the wind howl and the abrasive rain pummel tiny fists upon the roof. It was a distant sound because her words were ever so much louder. They were whispered, but he couldn't have heard them more clearly if she intoned them through a bullhorn.

She was wet all over.

Up. Down. His Adam's apple completed another cycle. A small bead of moisture trickled down his brow. Ryoma gulped again.

Wet all over. They both knew exactly what _that_ meant. He was going to be stuck in a tiny tool shed with a naked girl. A very cute naked girl. And a very, very tiny tool shed. Moreover, he was going to be in a similar state of undress.

Not good.

Most definitely not good. Curse the gods for manipulating him into a device for their sordid amusement. He didn't need this. He _so_ did not need this. Stupid law of casualty. Perhaps this was his punishment for being such a cocky ass. Regardless, Ryoma didn't see why Sakuno had to be dragged into it. She didn't do anything to deserve something this bad – stuck sopping wet and freezing in dark, cramped quarters with the one person you wanted to avoid the most.

Ah well. No use crying over spilt milk. He'd just have to grit his teeth. It was only Ryuzaki Sakuno. Just the clumsy coach's granddaughter. No biggie. Ryoma hitched a shoulder with a careless attitude. Nothing to get worked up about. Nothing at all.

So why was his heart pounding so damn loud?

And why did it feel like his stomach was twisted in a gazillion knots? It was weird. These feelings were foreign. Ryoma tried to decipher the strange tumult of feelings churning in his gut, but it was a jumble of confusing emotions and he soon gave it up. Why was he feeling this way? If he was his old self a month ago, he would have just chalked this situation up as a mere inconvenience. Not something he would have enjoyed, but tolerable.

However, this wasn't a month ago. He had changed. He wasn't the same indifferent boy he was before. Because now he was extremely aware of the tension filled air, and it was choking him. He was very, very aware of how awkward it would be to share a confining space with a girl he liked, and with the knowledge that neither of them would be properly dressed.

Oh yeah, that was it. He felt weird because he liked her. Ryuzaki Sakuno. And it was all the more awkward because she was mad at him.

What a mess.

He didn't think for a second that being stranded in this situation was going to make her feel anymore kindly towards him. Oh sure, exactly what part of being stuck in the dark with the guy you hated would Sakuno like?

Okay, he had to take that back. She was too sweet to really hate anyone. He may not have known very much about her, but Ryoma knew at least that much. So maybe she didn't hate him. He wasn't exactly on her A-list though. This particular situation wasn't gonna help either.

Ryoma cursed himself for opening his mouth before thinking. He had an awful habit of doing that as of late, especially with this girl. He would have to tread a bit more cautiously with his words, at least for the time being.

But even if he said it more tactfully, the fact remained that it was still freezing in here and she needed to get out of those wet clothes. He just knew that if she somehow got sick, in her current state of mind, she would blame it all on him. Girls were like that. They didn't make sense. All this would become more fuel to dislike him even more. It was total unjust but Ryoma could see it happening.

But damn, what did she expect him to do about it? Simply because he was the voice of reason she was going to rely on him now? She just stood there expectantly, like he was gonna magically conjure some clothing outta his ass like he was the fairy godmother or something.

Wait a minute.

Ryoma blinked. Wait a damn minute. The heel of his hand whacked his forehead. He was a dumbass, he really was. He totally forgot what else was in his tennis bag. Letting Horio hang around him had to be scrambling his brains, it was the only way he could justify such a glaring oversight.

Immensely relieved, Ryoma pulled the brim of his cap a little lower over his eyes. It was an unconscious movement but it comforted him in its familiarity.

"My school uniform is dry." There. If she had any notion of keeping on those wet pieces of clothes, he sufficiently squashed them flat. He thoroughly annihilated any grounds for insubordination with his words. Now that he offered her dry clothing, she couldn't turn him down, couldn't get sick, and couldn't hate him. He was helping her out.

Perhaps his reasoning was a little nonsensical, but Ryoma could not be blamed for muddled thinking. Not in such severe circumstances. Now that he knew he liked her, he wanted her to like him back. Or at least have their relationship return to the status quo. He would be okay with that too. The way things currently were sucked. If things continued as it was, his concentration would keep slipping and he'd lose his edge.

The random thought of Horio beating him in a one set match horrified him. A quick shudder convulsed through the cap-adorned boy before he shook it off. No way in hell.

Oblivious to the flurry of thoughts of the boy standing next to her, Sakuno stood there, quietly digesting his words. With that one sentence the discussion was effectively ended. Not that it was a real discussion. More like a veiled order. Take off your clothes and get into mine. That pretty much summed up the gist of it.

It wasn't in Sakuno's nature to protest, but complying didn't make the situation any easier to bear. Yes, she was cold and soaking wet. Yes, she wanted out of the confounded trapping of sodden clothing and into something warm and dry. But no, she did not want to do it in front of Echizen Ryoma. _Especially_ not in front of Echizen Ryoma.

Her common sense warred with her modesty. She had two choices and no, she could not wake up and be relieved that all this was just a bad dream because it felt very, very real. Nightmarishly real and she wished again that she had never fallen asleep in the grassy clearing.

A long, tense pause stilled the air, one wrought with indecision. After mentally running away for a second, the choices loomed over her once again, demanding to be made. One, she could be stubborn, remain dressed and possibly endanger her health. Or two, she could strip off all her wet clothing, which in her case, was _everything_, in Ryoma's presence. It was like deciding which of the two were the lesser evil and Sakuno was mired in her indecision.

Be wet and cold and keep her modesty intact, or submit and undress in a tiny cramped shed with the boy who broke her heart not an arm length away. It was a tough choice to make and Sakuno didn't have much time to ponder over it.

In all honesty, she was leaning towards undressing. Desperate times, desperate measures. It was so cold. If she changed fast enough, it would be okay, right? She had a silver lining on her side. Darkness. A complete and utter void of light.

In the end, innate self-preservation won out. Her chilled, damp skin yearned for the solace of his offered protection. His musky scent was bound to be enveloped in it, and thusly her once she donned his clothing. The pigtailed girl swore to herself not to let it bother her.

So what if wearing his clothing and smelling him on her body was the most intimate thing she'd ever experienced in all her young life?

So what if it would make them seem like they were more than mere acquaintances? Sakuno knew in her heart that he did not think of her in such a way so what did it really matter? If she did not let on that stripping to the skin and putting on his clothes didn't bother her, then perhaps she could walk away from this excruciating situation with some dignity intact.

Decision made, Sakuno bit her lip and forged on. With slightly trembling hands, she started unbuttoning her polo shirt. Time stretched as she quickly and nervously undressed. Long, tense seconds crept by with the speed of a slug. Every second felt like a minute.

His heart was pounding harder than it should, Ryoma thought. Her breathing was slightly labored, the cold air constricting her lungs and Ryoma could pick this up quite clearly, along with the other interesting sounds coming from her. The slither and slap of wet clothing leaving her body froze him in place. Ryoma had never really thought about girls before, but he was thinking about girls now, and especially the one standing not two feet away from him.

How could he think otherwise? She was _taking her clothes off_ right in front of him. It was a novel experience to say the least. The feelings and thoughts that swirled through him were decidedly… warm.

A little too warm.

He turned around and closed his eyes, more for the principle of it than anything else. He would have felt a bit gauche if he hadn't. Just because he didn't observe them all didn't mean he was entirely without social grace. However in their situation it wasn't necessary to observe that little social rule and now the tennis prodigy felt a little ludicrous.

Ryoma possessed excellent vision but even he was rendered sightless. There was not an iota of light in the tiny shed. Without the assistance of light, he could not foveate on anything. Not that he wanted to. He wasn't a pervert. Just because he was a guy didn't mean a thing. Then again, if it was Ryuzaki Sakuno, Ryoma couldn't deny being a little bit curious.

Especially after those disturbing dreams.

He clenched his fist and willed the sudden thoughts away. Not now. _Not now._ Of all the inappropriate times to be recalling _those_ dreams.

A faint hint of redness crept over Ryoma's cheeks. The movements coming from behind him sounded even louder than before, competing with the thrumming of his quickened pulse.

Ryoma swallowed. He stood rigidly as the memories attacked him.

Long mahogany hair and reddish brown eyes. Soft sighs and tentative touches. Flashes of golden skin, velvety smooth and welcoming. The rustle of bed linens and the muffled squeak of mattress springs. Low keening sounds and feminine whimpers that increased in crescendo until, until–

The tennis prodigy shook his head and ran a slightly trembling hand down his face. The moisture he wiped away was a mixture of rainwater and perspiration. He wasn't one to be shaken up so easily, but then again, he had never faced a situation quite like this before.

He quelled his pulse to a steady rate by forcibly taking in measured breaths. In. Out. In. Out. There. That wasn't so bad. In. Out. In. Out. The mental chant formed a relaxing mantra in his mind. In. Out. In. Out. No sexual thoughts here. No sir.

Who was he kidding?

She was taking her freakin' clothes off right behind him. If he was inclined, he could reach out and find out just how soft and smooth her skin really was. She was an arm's length away. It would be no trouble, really. So simple, so easy. Just a simple extension of his hand.

If he was inclined.

And of course, he wasn't. Nope. Not one bit. He wasn't at all curious how her skin would feel beneath a questing palm. Because he wasn't interested.

And the sun rises in the west. Ryoma let out a silent sigh.

Stuck in a shed on a rainy night with Ryuzaki Sakuno. How could he face her with that kind of dream in the back of his mind? The only way he could think of was to treat her indifferently, but that was what got him in this mess in the first place. If he hadn't denied his feelings towards the girl, things wouldn't be so strained.

And face it, Ryoma told himself; he didn't want things between them to be left so unsettled. It was a miserable month without her.

He missed her smiles and shy hellos. How she would stop in the hallways and seek him out, just to say good morning. Something he brushed off as so inane was now something he missed hearing from her lips. But now she dodged him in the hallways and looked the other way when he passed by.

It didn't really bother him at first. He hadn't noticed that she was avoiding him. Ryoma had to admit, he was slow on the uptake when it came to things like that. Leave it to Kachiro to point it out. After his empathic friend bought his observations to Ryoma's attention, Ryoma started to notice it too.

And the more time passed, the more he kept noticing it. Kept thinking about it. Thinking about her. So it made sense that she'd appear in his dreams. But why he dreamed of her in that kind of way boggled him.

He'd continue to wake up to a racing pulse and sweat damp sheets that tangled themselves around his legs and hips. It was incredibly frustrating. Sleep was difficult to obtain after one of those nightly visions. Nonetheless he grew more accustomed to them as the days progressed.

Not that getting accustomed to them made them anymore comfortable to tolerate. Sometimes thinking about tennis helped cool down the feverish sensations, but not always.

He knew dreams like this were natural, he wasn't concerned about that. He supposed that he was getting to that age. But why on earth, of all the girls he knew, did it have to be her? Granted, he didn't know very many, but then he had never cared to. So why did he let an insignificant little girl like her take such precedence in his mind?

Did he really think about her in that kind of way? Ryoma wasn't sure. He knew he thought she was attractive. But lots of girls were attractive, movie stars were attractive, and they did not render such cameos. Only she haunted his dreams.

Looking at other girls and then looking at Ryuzaki Sakuno, it was just different in a way he couldn't explain. And now he was having dreams about her. Dreams of him doing things to her. Things he knew he wasn't ready for in real life. So why the hell was he dreaming about it? And with her of all people?

The question plagued him for a long time.

And he'd continue to wake up day after day, crabby, hungry and late for morning practice. Then he'd catch a glimpse of her, sometimes in the hallway, sometimes near the courts. His stomach would clench and he'd cease feeling anything else except the stark awareness of her presence. He never realized before how often their paths could cross in one day.

And it hit him why things felt so wrong, why his life was off kilter.

He missed her.

He had said a cruel, hurtful comment about her person because he was too childish, too immature to own up to his feelings in front of his friends. Hubris. And now he was suffering from that very same pride that kept him from facing her, from resolving this.

It was almost a month now. Ryoma knew he couldn't run away forever, it wasn't in his nature. He would remedy the problem the only way he knew how. He'd analyze the situation and then take action. It was a strategy he employed in his games. It would now be one he would use to solve his current plight.

One, he knew he liked her. Two, he knew he hurt her. Solution? Apologize. But that was so much more easily said than done.

It had been a long time since a sincere apology left his lips. He wasn't sure if he was up to it. But if he didn't take the steps to mend what was left of their tattered relationship now, he would most likely not get another chance. It was a feeling Ryoma had in his gut, and his instincts were rarely ever wrong.

The tennis prince let out a little sigh. This was going to suck.


	5. Complicated

**Disclaimer:** Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. Not me. Please don't sue.

**AN:** Writer's block is a misnomer. It's more like writer's agony. Thanks for sticking with such a slow, erratic author. You guys are great. Thanks for all the support. I mean it. Enjoy.

**Complicated**

By Cinpii

* * *

He was being really quiet, Sakuno thought as she worked at freeing herself from the cloying confines of her water-steeped shirt. The fine-spun cotton clung to her form with stubborn tenacity, molding itself to her gentle curves. The sudden attack of the elements had thoroughly drenched her to the skin, making her clothes sodden and heavy. Her numb fingers fumbled at the buttons of her throat twice before she loosened her top enough to slip out of it. 

Outside the rain pattered rhythmically, a never ending staccato upon the roof and sides of the tiny shed. It was a constant reminder of her imprisonment; a situation she would not be able to run away from. She had successfully dodged Ryoma for a month, but apparently fate decided enough was enough.

So here she was. Stuck. In the dead of the night during a freak thunderstorm with the one boy she was trying with all her heart to forget. How ironic. She used to while away hours in girlish daydreams about spending time with him. Whimsical wishes of a certain boy with cat shaped eyes quirking his lips in that certain way which made her forget everything except how boyishly handsome it made him look.

Now she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and forget any of this ever happened. Or disappear. That was good too. Sakuno wasn't picky. This was just so incredibly awkward. Here she was, taking off all her clothes, and Echizen Ryoma was right there, taking off his clothes as well. The more the pigtailed girl tried not to let it affect her, the more it did. Her movements were hindered by an almost debilitating shyness and try as she might, it was a daunting obstacle to overcome.

They were alone sharing a cramped, tiny space in a dark shed and getting more naked by the second. How was she supposed to remain cool and collected when everything was so stacked against her? She didn't _want_ to like him. But she did. And that made all the difference in the world. With another boy, sure, it would be uncomfortable, but with Echizen Ryoma, he took uncomfortable to a whole new level.

Sakuno bit her lip, feeling horribly awkward. It was silly and she knew it. If she couldn't see anything, he wouldn't be able to either. There was no point in being modest. But she still couldn't shake it off. It was hard to fight against her nature. Her ingrained shyness reared its head once again, paralyzing the poor girl and making her even more miserable.

To staunch her discomfort, she tried pretending he wasn't there. It was a futile effort. She could hear his quiet breathing and it made her more self-conscious than she already was. Sakuno wished Ryoma would say something so she would at least know what he was thinking.

The tennis prodigy remained as quiet as a mouse, breathing in and out. Such slow, controlled breaths, they were barely audible if not for the fact that she was so keenly aware of him. Of his presence so close to her. So close in fact, she only had to take one step towards him to feel his body heat.

Body heat. Ryoma. No clothes. Sakuno blushed. Hard.

She slapped her cheek with a frozen palm. Why was she thinking about such things at a time like this? _Baka baka baka! _This was _so_ not the right time to think about, to think about– well, what she was thinking about.

Not to say that she had never thought about it. With him.

The pigtailed girl felt her cheeks burning even hotter. If she wasn't so embarrassed, it would have struck her as funny how her face was the only warm part of her body. But she was embarrassed. And it wasn't funny. Not one bit.

It was dark. Cold. And if he wasn't naked, he was getting there. So was she. They were alone. Together. In the middle of a rainy night. With absolutely no supervision. The glaring fact that Ryoma was an adolescent boy did not escape Sakuno's attention.

Just how well did she know him, anyway? Should she really be taking her clothes off with him an arm's length away? Kami-sama, she must have done something really heinous to deserve this.

Sakuno fretted for a bit, her hands clutching the collar of her dripping shirt. A minute passed and nothing happened. Her shirt continued dripping, Ryoma kept on breathing, and the world remained spinning. Her hands loosened, then fell away.

She needn't have worried. Sakuno mentally laughed at the absurdity of her thoughts. Just because he was a boy didn't mean she had to distrust him. Ryoma had never shown any inclinations of perversion and it was wrong of her to indite him just because of her unease with their predicament.

Heck, the more Sakuno thought about it, the more she realized that Ryoma just wasn't at that stage in his life to be interested in girls. He had a large female fan base, all of whom he regularly dismissed and ignored. Not to say that he was interested in boys. The tennis prodigy was so indifferent to hormones as a whole that the very idea was laughable, really. It was silly to think he'd take advantage of the situation. Ryoma just wasn't the type. He didn't like her anyway.

Her jaw set at that thought. Yes, that was right. He didn't like her. And she didn't like him. She almost forgot about that. She didn't like him. Her hands fisted at the hem of her polo. Her eyebrow twitched. Echizen Ryoma was a stupid insensitive clod and she didn't like him one bit. If he was going to make insulting comments about her, she didn't need him. She had better things to do then waste her time pining over an immature little _boy_ who was entirely too cocky and rude to boot.

Thinking that, Sakuno tugged her shirt off with extra gusto, her frustration and anger manifesting itself through her actions. The pretty girl paused, a sharp inhale parting her lips as her delicate skin became exposed to the cold air. The weighty water logged material slipped from numbed fingers and fell with a wet plop upon the ground. Sakuno was normally more careful with her belongings, but it was hard to care about the status of her shirt when she was freezing half to death. Goosebumps marauded across her body, a sweeping mass of prickling sensations rendering her immobile.

She shook it off when the shivers overwhelmed her tiny frame. Rainwater pebbled her flesh as it trailed its lazy path down her body. Her braids hung like twisted ropes against her vulnerable back, heavy from rain and icy stiff. Taking Ryoma's towel, she hugged it to herself, desperately instilling some bit of warmth. The dry absorbent cloth felt heavenly against her chilled skin and Sakuno buried her face in it, forgetting for a brief moment whose towel she was currently using.

His faint musky scent caressed her olfactory receptors like a lover's touch. With a start, Sakuno pulled it away, burning red. It was so intimate it was almost sexual.

Her previous indignation became rapidly replaced by embarrassment. All thoughts of staying mad at a certain tennis prodigy flew out the window. It was hard to remain angry when one was embarrassed beyond belief. Composure thoroughly shaken, she hastily started to remove the rest of her clothing. Hands shaking with impatience attacked the hook and zipper enclosure of her skirt. Following the fate of her forgotten shirt, it too fell down with a wet plop, but this time around her ankles.

Without a thought her panties were off as well and she was diving into the ready warmth of his white inner shirt. It was frustratingly difficult dressing in the dark, especially in unfamiliar clothing. This was something Sakuno quickly discovered as she struggled with the uncooperative article. With agonizing slowness, her fingers clumsily forced each button into its tiny hole. Luck was not on her side. Boy's clothing were constructed differently, Sakuno found out. The holes and buttons were on the opposite side of what she was used to, which made dressing in the dark even more awkward.

It certainly didn't help that she kept getting distracted. Ryoma's pheromones tickled her senses, making her even more aware of how suggestive this was. She was wearing him on her skin. The same cloth that touched him was now touching her in all the same places. Sakuno's cheeks heated up even more as she continued coaxing the obstinate buttons in her favor.

It was with surprise and relief when she discovered that his shirt reached her mid-thigh. It covered what needed to be covered, which was a very good thing because Ryoma was not sharing his pants. His windbreaker was water resistant so he was not as soaked as she, but he was still drenched. Since his Seigaku jacket did not protect his lower half, he was just as wet from the waist down.

Ryoma tore off his shirt and hopped into his pants, all the while battling images of a wet, scantily clad Ryuzaki Sakuno in an oversized shirt. His oversized shirt. The same shirt he wore to school not too long ago.

He never thought having a girl wear something of his could make him feel so possessive. But it did. And Ryoma kind of liked the feeling. It was appealing because he was getting used to the idea of him. And Sakuno. Together.

Kinda.

Things were sort of muddled as of right now. She wasn't feeling particularly kindly towards him. And he hadn't apologized yet. And well, he wasn't even sure if she would like him back. And if she didn't like him back, then there was no point in letting her know that he liked her. And if there was no point in letting her know, then there was no point in apologizing.

Ryoma closed his eyes. Was this what they called circular logic? He wasn't even making sense anymore. He just wanted to know if she liked him, damnit. If she just gave him a sign. The moment he thought of that, he knew they were doomed. He was going to base the future of their relationship on Sakuno?

Bad bad bad.

Whatever she did next could make or break any potential they might have together. Ryoma ran his fingers through his hair. Hyper shy, self-deprecating Ryuzaki Sakuno making a first move? Hardly likely.

What a quandary.

Ryoma bent down and felt around for his bag. Finding what he wanted, he took out his black uniform jacket and proceeded to shrug it on. He wondered again why in all the heavens he had to fall for such a timid person. And he cursed himself for being too proud to reveal his feelings first. Ryoma sighed. Life without girls was definitely less complicated. Tennis was nowhere as hard as figuring out the mind of the opposite sex. He just needed a sign, he thought again. Then maybe he could put his pride aside and tell her, tell her–

"Ah!" Sakuno gasped softly.

Musings shattered, Ryoma instinctively turned around to ask her what was wrong. He didn't get the chance to speak. Suddenly he was falling backwards. Falling backwards half naked with an equally half naked Ryuzaki Sakuno sprawled upon him.

The fates had _got_ to be joking. It was his last conscious thought before Echizen Ryoma conked out.


	6. Arousal

**Disclaimer:** Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. Not me. Please don't sue. Certain ideas were inspired from Beriath's 'Strawberry'.

**AN:** Arousal is a state of awareness. Very fitting, ne? Enjoy.

**Arousal**

By Cinpii

* * *

Minutes passed, but it could have been hours. It was certainly possible, with the way his groggy senses were behaving. Tiny motes of light danced beneath his lids, swarming, making him dizzy. Ryoma opened his eyes to make it stop. It didn't help. Even without the dancing lights, he was still disoriented. He couldn't see anything. 

_What happened? _He couldn't remember. Recollection was fuzzy at the moment. Just where the hell was he, anyway? The coldness of the concrete seeped though his clothes, leaving Ryoma confused as to why he was lying on the ground in complete darkness.

Clarity trickled slowly, the fuzzy fingers of memory tickling his consciousness. He frowned as he tried to recall the past events. _It was raining. _Yes, that was right. That would explain why his hair felt damp, and why he could hear the onslaught of nature against the barriers of the shelter. He had got caught in the rain. _But how?_

The boy closed his eyes, his head reeling. Ryoma bit back a groan and rubbed the back of his skull. Built up pressure from ruptured capillaries had spilled blood into the tissues of the inner epidermal layers of his head, causing the area to throb incessantly. Ryoma winced as he touched the carnage. The protrusion was tender and painful. He wondered if he sustained a concussion.

Questing fingers touched moisture, but the wetness was slick, not sticky. A good sign, which meant he wasn't bleeding. Outwardly anyway. From the feel of it, he could tell this bruise was a keeper. Just lovely. How he'd kill for a pillow, the boy thought idly.

Taking a mental assessment of the rest of his body, Ryoma realized he couldn't feel his lower half. It was difficult moving his legs, and for a brief moment the frightening thought of paraplegia paralyzed him. Suddenly the bump on his head seemed insignificant in comparison. Had he damaged more than just the base of his cranium? His breaths became shallow at the notion, making each inhale a laborious effort. It didn't help that there was a heavy weight on his chest.

His heart slammed into his sternum, icy fear wrapping itself around his lungs and constricting his breaths. He was lying on the ground in complete darkness, and aside from one arm, he couldn't move. The frightening reality of the situation sobered him. Where was he?

Ryoma breathed deeply, forcing oxygen into his body so he could think. Memories swirled in his mind, indefinite shapes forming blurry images that did little to appease his apprehension. The blurs melded together, becoming more lucid. A weather beaten structure. No, three of them. Pelting rain. Lightening. Wind. He nodded mentally. That was right. He took shelter in a tool shed. A crease formed between his brows. That made sense, but why was he lying on the ground?

More memories emerged, adding their clues to the puzzle. It was an old structure. He broke the handle to get in. The place was crammed with discarded gym equipment. Steel weights, plastic hurdles, wooden stands, blue floor mats. Tons of dusty, miscellaneous junk. So it was entirely possible that something might have crashed onto him during his blind descent into oblivion.

_Blind descent into oblivion?_ The boy shook his head, trying to piece the jumble of memories into some state of sensibility. So he had fallen. Probably shot his arms out and grabbed something for support, which ended up backfiring and just fell along with him. More correctly, onto him.

But there was something nagging him. That didn't make sense at all. He wasn't clumsy. Perhaps in the dark, but it was a stretch of imagination to think of him bumping into something so hard he toppled backwards. There was only gym equipment here, right?

So why didn't it _feel_ like gym equipment? Ryoma closed his eyes, feeling drained. He was battling fatigue and the remnants of confusion brought on by a concussion. To top it off, his injuries throbbed with renewed vigor.

And he thought slamming onto clay courts hurt. Boy was he wrong. _Note to self: don't fall onto concrete if you can help it. _Well, at least he still had his sarcasm. Not that it consoled him much.

Lying there in the dark, immobile and freezing and bewildered, the alluring scent of strawberries tickled his nose.

_Strawberries? _

Weird. What was a scent like strawberries doing in a dusty, unused shed in the middle of a stormy night? Maybe he was going crazy. People with hypothermia suffered from delirium, right?

Ryoma frowned as he inhaled as much as the heavy weight on his chest would allow. The scent of the crimson fruit did not dissipate. Heh. Crimson reminded him of Sakuno's cheeks when she blushed.

Ryoma's eyes flashed open.

The memories came in an overwhelming torrent. Why he stayed late after practice. How he got caught in the rain. What he did to get into this shelter. But most importantly, who he was sharing the shelter with. Ryoma grimaced. He didn't bump into something. That something bumped into him. Or more accurately, toppled onto him.

Now he knew why gym equipment wasn't soft, and why it didn't smell like strawberries. Because it didn't.

But Ryuzaki Sakuno did.

_Oh hell._

This was bad. This was bad. This was so very, very bad. It was almost more preferable to be trapped under piles of miscellaneous junk than to have cute, innocent little Ryuzaki Sakuno lying on top of him.

Almost.

Now that he knew it was her, the cat-eyed boy couldn't deny that it certainly _felt_ better, having her soft, delectable body draped upon his own. But there was such a thing as feeling 'too good', and Ryoma was afraid he was rapidly reacting to just how good it felt.

Damn male adolescent hormones.

The gods were surely tempting him, and using the innocent girl as the lure. He was stubborn though, so he wasn't going to cave. He'd show everyone that Echizen Ryoma was made of tougher stuff than this. Just because the one girl he actually might feel something for was lying lusciously right on top of him, helpless and unaware of any errant touches he might accidentally make, he wasn't going to cave.

Of course not. Echizen Ryoma was a person of the most exacting, rigid character. One only had to look at his upbringing. His father was an outstanding example of an upright citizen with unyielding morals. So it went without saying that Ryoma grew up in a home where perverted thoughts and hentai intentions did not run amuck. Such crude, base tendencies were overcome by superior integrity alone. Right.

Therefore Ryoma, growing up in that kind of atmosphere, would know that it would be morally, not to mention ethically and socially wrong to molest an unsuspecting, unconscious girl. And given this incredible chance by the oh-so-generous fates that be, he, Echizen Ryoma, son of Echizen Nanjiroh, would not even be _tempted_ to so much as entertain the thought.

And Karupin really _was_ a raccoon.

Who was he kidding? It was working. And she wasn't being so innocent, the way she was laying on him. Tempting him. Sheesh, she was practically inviting him to touch her. He could only restrain himself so much before he caved. He _was_ a guy after all.

Ryoma laid there in silent misery, one part of him screaming to touch her damnit, and touch her now while she was still unconscious. The other part, the stupid logical part, screaming with equal ferocity to not touch a hair on her, lest she accuse him of despicable intentions (which wasn't too far off the bat).

To explore forbidden pleasures. To not explore forbidden pleasures. What a crappy situation the fates put him in. If he succumbed, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it. If he didn't succumb, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it. The cat-eyed boy frowned. Either way, it sucked.

In a lose-lose situation like this, he might as well cop a feel and at least walk away with something. Ryoma's hand twitched, hovering over the general area of her delectable little derrière. Just when he was about to make contact, a nasty image of his father cheering him on flashed in his mind. His hand couldn't fall back fast enough.

_Ugh._ _Thoughts of oyaji._ Ryoma shuddered. His mood quickly soured.

This was all her fault, the boy thought grumpily. If he was caught between a rock and a hard place, it was her own doing, not his. Why was he feeling guilty? She was the one to fall on him. He was a totally innocent bystander, minding his own business, standing on his side of the narrow haphazard aisle in this godforsaken tool shed. So he wasn't going to feel guilty if he touched her without her knowledge or consent.

In fact, he deserved an apology for being her human pillow. Yes, that was right. He was the innocent party here. It was his body she was lying on, his body she was drawing heat from, and his body that was throbbing from the fucking fall.

Suddenly angry with self-importance, Ryoma raised his hand and nudged at the body draped unconsciously upon him.

"Oi," he prompted. "I'm not your damn pillow."

A soft whimper permeated the air. Ryoma blinked. He nudged her again, more forcefully.

"Get _off_."

Sakuno moaned softly from being stirred from her gentle slumber. She nuzzled deeper into him before quieting down, her breaths slow and peaceful.

Ryoma exhaled loudly, closing his eyes in defeat. What the hell was he supposed to do now? It didn't take a genius to figure out that the only reason she was cuddling against him so desperately was because she was cold and unconsciously seeking his body heat.

This wasn't working. The boy grit his teeth in frustration. How could he get her off him if she didn't cooperate?

Ok, so that was a weak excuse. If he really wanted to shove her off, he could. She wasn't _that_ heavy. And there was enough space in this narrow shed for her to lie. But she was shivering. And it wasn't that bad having her lay on him. It was actually kind of… nice.

Not that Ryoma let him admit it to himself. Instead, he rationalized his slip of generosity. Sakuno needed him. Without him, she'd probably die from hypothermia.

So that was how Ryoma slid down the slippery slope of rationality. He ended up convincing himself that she was cold, freezing really, and needed his body heat. The clothing he lent her, a plain white button down shirt, was hardly enough to fend off the chill. And she was so fragile and delicate, he'd feel guilty if her health was negatively affected from this whole ordeal. Especially if all he had to do was lie there and let her soak up his body warmth.

Besides, Ryoma rationalized even farther, she was so clumsy and slow, he was practically _obligated_ to look after her. Even though it was her fault they were in this mess, he would have to be the one cleaning it up. Because she was just too helpless.

Right.

He deserved an award for his altruism. The tennis prodigy mentally patted himself on the back.

So why did he feel like he was taking advantage of her? He frowned as his thoughts cycled again to whose fault this was. If he really thought about it, it all started because he said something stupid and cruel.

Ryoma huffed. He didn't want to think about it anymore, it made him feel bad. Made him feel guilty. But his mind didn't listen to his will, and pondered the questions once more. Why did she have to be there when he said it? Why did he have to say it in the first place? And why did it hurt so much when she ignored him?

Why did it still hurt, even now?

He was the prince. The rising star. She was a little nobody no one was ever going to look twice at. Easily replaceable, people like her were a dime a dozen.

As soon as those thoughts entered his mind, Ryoma knew they were false. He had to stop lying to himself. He liked her. He didn't want to, but he did. Sakuno was… special. He didn't know how or why but it was time to stop deluding himself. Maybe then their relationship could actually _go_ somewhere.

Which only meant one thing. Ryoma grimaced. He'd have to suck it up and apologize. No running away this time. His resolve hardened and the boy nodded, knowing that this was the right thing to do. Then Sakuno shifted, and something else hardened.

_Damn, that felt good. _Ryoma mentally slapped himself._ Don't think about that._

But she shifted again, and he couldn't help it. All those sexy wiggles were doing things to him. Sakuno mumbled an incoherent phrase, and her warm breath caressed the sensitive column of Ryoma's neck. A shiver of pleasure jolted through him and he gasped in surprise.

Ryoma swallowed thickly. Was it getting hot in here? He was suddenly wearing way too much clothes. Although the logical part of his mind told him it was freezing cold outside and he was only clad in his pants and school uniform, Ryoma was suddenly, unbearably, insufferably overheated.

She nuzzled into his throat, unconsciously seeking the heat he emitted. Her small palms bunched, grabbing fistfuls of his open top. His open, unbuttoned top. The top he didn't get the chance to fasten before the fall. Which meant that the only thing separating their bodies was a thin, white dress shirt. And that thin white shirt was probably the only thing covering her.

Oh boy.

His breathing shallowed, but for other reasons now. He was going to go lightheaded from the lack of oxygen to his brain.

_So breathe_.

Ryoma released the pent up air in his lungs. Sakuno's prostrate body sank even deeper into him. He inhaled quickly, and she rose as his chest expanded. He repeated the process only to realize that the more he kept doing it, the more aware of her he became.

The tennis prodigy closed his eyes in defeat. Deep breaths weren't working. He supposed it didn't matter anyway. The way things were going, all that oxygen-rich blood was going down his pants.

Ryoma tried not to think about the position of their bodies, but the more he tried not to, the more he did. Little tremors enveloped his frame and he stiffened, trying to fight off the sensations. He'd never thought it'd feel like this. Having the soft, pliant form of Sakuno's body on him, breathing in her strawberry-scented hair, entertaining impure thoughts of him feasting on her sweetness…

She started to stir and Ryoma panicked. Irrationality seized him. If she woke up and found him awake, what would she think? She certainly wouldn't be thanking him for enjoying the potential grope session, that was for sure. Although he was innocent on that count, the boy was taking no chances.

Out of self-preservation, Ryoma decided to play dead. He wasn't ready for the confrontation yet. And the logical part of his mind told him that she probably wouldn't be receptive to an apology in their current situation – which was naked. Practically. There was a time and place for everything, and right now was definitely not it.

The boy went limp and held his breath, although his heart was thumping furiously. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead. She was shifting again, and oh, that shifting felt so good, and yet so bad at the same time.

Hoping that his body wouldn't betray him, Ryoma sent a request to the heavens, praying to the gods that she wouldn't wake up. Too bad his luck sucked.


	7. Torture

**Disclaimer:** Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. Not me. Please don't sue.

**AN:** As if we didn't all know by now, Cin is a hella slow writer. And she's also wicked. Very, very wicked. Innocent souls who wish not to subject themselves to evil Ryoma torture should turn back. Otherwise, happy reading. Comments and criticisms welcome. Enjoy.

**Torture**

By Cinpii

* * *

She was warm. And that was all that mattered. The exhaustion of the day had taken a toll on the young girl's system, and she slept with surprising thoroughness.

Sakuno hummed softly in drowsy contentment, rubbing her cheek against her pillow, burrowing her face deeper into the ready warmth. She was so cold before, but all she could register now was the lulling waves of heat permeating every inch of her body. It felt incredibly nice. She hadn't felt this relaxed in a long while. She sighed, luxuriating in the encompassing heat. The freezing chill was like a distant memory, faded and forgotten.

Ryoma laid there rigidly, jaws clenched, palms fisted. Kami-sama, what was she _doing?_ His mind mentally screamed, demanding an answer to the rhetorical question. Without rhyme or reason, her hands roamed over him. Frozen from the fear of waking her up, Ryoma could only lie there and let them.

Dainty, sleep inquisitive fingers skimmed over his torso, brushing over the uncovered flesh. They trailed over the molded contours of pectorals and obliques, the movements whisper light and delicate.

His forehead wrinkled, brows worried together. Every follicle in her fingers' lazy path stood on end, the sparks of tingly sensations triggering them erect. Never had he been aware of something so paltry like the tiny, invisible hairs that covered his body. Now they were all vying, making their presence known.

The boy grimaced as her fingertips splayed, their touch becoming more insistent. Up her hands would go, smoothing over the sides of his chest. Down, caressing over his ribs and abs. A muscle in Ryoma's jaw flexed in reaction to Sakuno's sleepy caresses.

She shifted a bit, a delightful wriggle that sent his toes curling. His free arm jolted up as he gasped. Oi, oi, she shouldn't be wiggling over that section of his body. It was too… pleasurable. Anymore and he'd go cross-eyed and embarrass himself. Literally.

Ryoma laid there paralyzed, uncertain of what to do. She was shifting over an extremely sensitive area. And while he wanted to stop her, he dared not risk it. It was pertinent that she wake up first. Of course that wasn't the case for he had already beaten her to it, but he couldn't have Sakuno think that.

If she woke up first and found him unconscious, her kind-heartedness would surpass any ill feelings she harbored towards him. The guilt she'd undoubtedly feel would make her that much more receptive to his apology. He'd apologize, she'd accept, and life as he knew it would go back to normal.

If he had to be unscrupulous and sneaky to get his way, that was ok. He'd have her smiles again, her shy greetings, her presence to cheer him during his matches. He'd have…

Her.

The trouble was, the dratted girl wouldn't stop moving. How could he lie there feigning unconsciousness when she kept _moving?_ She couldn't lie docilely and soak up his heat, no, she had to shift around, move her hands up and down his naked torso, make little moaning noises. And smell good while she did it too.

The gods hated him. They had to. He wasn't experienced enough to withstand this onslaught. They knew it, and that's why he was put in this situation. It was all some sort of divine punishment.

A cold bead of sweat rolled down the boy's temple and disappeared into his hairline. He couldn't take much more of this. This was unbearable. Ryoma's adolescent mind was on overload. Here he was on a cold, rainy night, stuck in a shed with an unconscious girl. Not only was she lying on top of him, which was bad enough, but they were both half naked, which was even worse.

While his eyesight was impaired, his hearing was not. In the darkness with one less sensory receptor, his hearing became especially acute. Ryoma had registered every plop of her wet clothing that fell to the floor. He had stood rigid and suffered from hormone-induced visions of the innocent girl undressing, pulling off her clingy, formfitting clothes. He could imagine Sakuno buffing off her rain-slicked skin, shivering delicately from the chill, drawing on his shirt.

His shirt. And nothing else.

Fiery licks of heat blossomed upon Ryoma's cheeks. His eyes shuttered for one intense moment as he gathered all his willpower to suppress the image of the pigtailed girl in his shirt. The white cloth would be oversized on her tiny frame, making her even more adorable and yummy. One quick smile flit across Ryoma's face at the appealing thought.

Then it died because the realization hit him. She was in his shirt. And just his shirt. And nothing else. And he had to play dead and not touch her, because the fates hated him. With his luck, the moment he did something lewd (not that he would ever consider such a thing being raised with his puritan father and all), she would wake up.

She would wake up, scream holy hell, probably slap the bejeezus outta him, and run home crying to the coach, accusing him of molestation. He'd be shunned from society, kicked out of school, and his tennis would be taken away from him before he developed the skills to trounce his father mano a mano.

Maybe the darkness was driving him crazy. His thoughts surely weren't logical or sane or even characteristic. Nonetheless, Ryoma wasn't going risk the chance of being caught doing anything. So he laid there. And suffered.

The unconscious girl remained oblivious to it all, and continued her cozy nap.

Long, dreadful minutes slunk by as the boy tried to occupy his mind with other thoughts. _Think of something. Anything._ Ryoma's mind blanked. He couldn't conjure a single thing that didn't involve a certain pigtailed girl. As a last resort, he screwed his eyes tight to help block her out.

Over the thumping of his heart, the rhythmic impact of rain driving into their shelter permeated his ears. The sound of thunder boomed, resonating through the walls. Senses distracted from the girl, Ryoma cocked his ears to observe more. It was then when he heard something curious. Like the sound of a leaky faucet, little plinks echoed throughout the tool shed.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

He couldn't believe it.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

Was this shed so old that it's roof was leaking?

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

It was then when he registered something cold seeping into his shoulder.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

Ryoma carefully elevated the joint, trying to move without stirring Sakuno awake.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

He blinked in realization.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

His shoulder was wet.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

Cat shaped eyes narrowed in irritation.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

Ryoma's teeth grinded together.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

Unbelievable.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

Was he getting wet all over again?

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

His right eyebrow twitched.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

His shoulder was really wet.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

Lips drew into a firm line as the tennis prodigy closed his eyes and tried to access the damage.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

How could he not have noticed it before?

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

His entire shoulder was wet.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

Stewing in bitterness, Ryoma's thoughts turned surly. _What else could go wrong? _

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

The boy then realized that his knee was damp too.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

No.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

No way.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

His dry school uniform was getting wet too.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

This was just fucked up wrong.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

The warm body on him shifted, and Ryoma froze, air caged in his lungs.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

It didn't occur to him until now, but if his shoulder and knee were getting wet, who knew how many other leaks their shelter had?

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

Maybe Sakuno was getting wet as well.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

And if she was getting wet…

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

She'd wake up any moment now.

_Plop. Plink. Plop. Plink. _

Oh hell.

* * *

Sakuno's cheek twitched when she felt something cold slide down the back of her neck. The chilly drop of water soon acclimated to her body temperature, but the initial shock was enough. Like pinpricks, drop after slow drop splattered upon her nape.

Heavy eyelids opened, bleary from interrupted sleep. Where was she? And why was her neck getting wet? With a hand she reached up to rub off the accumulated moisture, blinking rapidly while she did so.

Why was it so dark in her room? She always turned her nightlight on. It was a gift from Tomoka back in third grade. She had grown too old for it by now, but switching it on was a long formed habit.

Sakuno shifted, moving out of the path of the leak. Her right hand slid under her to support her weight. It stopped when it encountered something peculiar.

Concrete. Cold, hard, and unyielding. The extreme temperature contrast shot through her system and her hand withdrew back to the warm cavity of her chest. Sakuno paused, her sleepy brain now jolted awake.

Reddish brown eyes widened. Dark pupils dilated, trying to let in any perceivable source of light. There were none. The sound of the rain, dull white noise before, sharpened. Sakuno's ears perked as the inclement weather bore down all around her. She froze, forgetting to breathe as the memories swamped her.

After buttoning down the shirt he lent her, she had turned around, intending to ask if she could also borrow his belt. His top was too big for her. Using a belt would help conserve warmth. So distracted by the sheer awkwardness of their situation, Sakuno had forgotten about the soaking puddles of material that encircled her feet. She had tripped on the wet clothes she had discarded in her haste to dress.

And now Ryoma was a victim of her stupid clumsiness.

The realization of her situation couldn't have stunned her more. How could something so innocuous as solitary wall practice result in this? She was lying on Echizen Ryoma. Her heart thumped in her chest at the thought. She was lying on _Echizen Ryoma._

And he wasn't moving.

The braided girl closed her eyes, wallowing in her shame. What she did was wretchedly egregious. Why was she so klutzy? She would never forgive herself if he wasn't okay.

The tentative whisper of his name slowly threaded its way into the still air. Laced with uncertainty and regret, Sakuno's voice caressed the prone boy's senses. Seizing the opportunity to carry out his plan, Ryoma feigned unconsciousness. _Play dead._

The gentle weight on his body disappeared and for a moment, Ryoma lamented the absence. It wasn't long before he was besieged with a new stimulus though.

"Ryoma-kun?" It was soft and breathy against his cheek. And warm. Luxuriously warm. She repeated the words, the puffs from her inquiry above his lips. Her breath was sweet, just like how he always imagined she'd be. Sweet. Soft. Warm. Ryoma laid there in hazy, almost dreamy contentment from the pleasure of her attention.

Sakuno was getting worried. He must have hit his head harder than she thought. Ryoma wasn't responding and this was making her uneasy. Small tendrils of panic curled around her heart, tightening painfully.

"Ryoma-kun. Say something. Please." The beginning of small tears sprung in her eyes. What was she going to do? With a hand, she blindly patted in the general direction of his head. Upon contact, fingers threaded through his hair and smoothed over his profile. All vestiges of demureness were lost in Sakuno's panicked state when he remained unmoving.

She needed to ascertain his breathing. One palm slid over his naked chest to feel if it would rise while she lowered her ear to his nose. In the darkness with obscure references, Sakuno's judgment of distance was off. His lips grazed the swell of her cheek and she blushed. She didn't intend that at all.

The girl adjusted positions with a tiny movement of her head, the delicate shell of her ear hovering centimeters from his mouth. His soft expel of air caressed the sensitive area, making her shiver unexpectedly.

Sakuno immediately withdrew, blushing hard and chastising herself. She couldn't have this reaction to a boy who didn't like her back. It'd just make her vulnerable again, and dealing with the hurt the first time was bad enough.

He insulted her. Flippantly commented that no one would ever want to date her. His words were so callous, arrogant and hurtful; the pigtailed girl trembled in anger as the memories came rushing to the fore.

With the circumstances being as it was, she had forgotten all about that little comment. The darkness, rain and thunder had struck so quickly, so unexpectedly, she forgot everything. Echizen Ryoma was a cad. Just because he came and saved her from being alone on a scary night, just because he was here with her, what did that have to do with anything?

He was a stupid, dense boy and she was equally stupid for falling for him. For letting herself feel something for him, when it was so obvious he didn't feel the same. A month had passed and nothing had changed. He didn't care. And if he didn't, then she wouldn't either.

Sakuno pushed off him with angry energy, unmindful of how the rough cement floor ate into her tender palms. _Tomo-chan can have you_, she thought. _Although frankly, you're not good enough for her, either._

She was getting on her knees, gung ho about marching home. She'd rather brave thunder and lightening and pelting bullets of rain than be stuck here any longer with Him.

So intent on leaving, what happened next took her by surprise. Sakuno's muscles tensed up. Her body froze into place when the hand closed around her wrist. The voice was low, but filled with steely determination. A soft spoken command.

"Don't go."


	8. Ascension

**Disclaimer:** Prince of Tennis was created by Konomi Takeshi. No profit is intended to be gained by this story.

**AN:** Thank you all for your patience and prodding. No promises on when the next chapter will be out, but hopefully sooner than the three years you've all waited for this update.

Input is always appreciated. Constructive criticism is especially so. It always pleases me when a reader gives me predictions for where they think this fic will go, so if you have any, feel free to share. Enjoy.

**Ascension**

By Cinpii

* * *

Rain pelted the shed with ever increasing insistence. Hard and angry, its rhythm matched the furious beating of Sakuno's pulse.

"Let go of me," she demanded.

"Yada."

Reddish brown eyes narrowed in irritation. _What?_ She could not believe his audacity. Just because he was the tennis prince he could boss her around? No way. It was bad enough that he couldn't care less about her and degraded her in front of his friends. It was bad enough that she had run off and let him get away with it.

That all stopped now. She was not going to put up with anymore of his mistreatment. She was a new person. Stronger. More independent. And definitely _not in love_. Riding on the flood of angry thoughts, Sakuno set her jaw. With a sharp tug, she jerked her wrist free from his grasp.

At least, she tried. Ryoma's grip remained firm and unyielding.

"You're mad." Wonder colored his voice. "I've never seen you mad before."

"You don't know me. Don't presume to. Now let me go." Her last words were growled in slow, concise measures, their meaning unmistakable. Sakuno gave another tug.

If it was one thing Echizen Ryoma was known for, it was his obstinacy. If he didn't want to let her go, she wasn't going to go, end of story. His eyes narrowed at her petulance. She was being uncharacteristically willful. What happened to the biddable and meek schoolgirl he was used to? Though he had to admit, under different circumstances, this new side of Ryuzaki would have intrigued him, right now was not the time for her stubbornness to rear its head.

How could he properly apologize to her like this? Talking to an angry, bodiless voice in the dark. If he couldn't see her, how would he know if she was listening? He didn't think he could bear it if he had to repeat himself. It'd be hard enough just trying to say the words. If she didn't hear him…

Ryoma scowled. That wasn't going to happen. He wouldn't let it. He'd make sure she'd understand. To do that, he would ensure her complete, undivided attention. Determination firmly in place, Ryoma opened his mouth.

"Stop moving."

Her answer to his demand, another yank.

Ryoma frowned. The gall of her. She wasn't listening to him. Here he was, trying to properly apologize and set things right, and she wasn't listening. His eyes narrowed. He'd fix that. There was only one way to do it, in the confines of their tiny shelter. He initiated a sharp tug of his own that sent Sakuno sprawling into his chest. Her exclamation went unheeded as Ryoma rolled over, pinning her beneath him. Sakuno gasped as he pressed her into the cold concrete. The difference of temperatures was shocking. He radiated heat; it infused her body at every contact point.

Contact points, of which were many. They laid there, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. With each rapid inhale her chest rose, forcing more contact between them. The girl burned from modesty, feeling her breasts crushed against his larger frame. Small as they were, they were still hers, and Sakuno railed at the fact that Echizen Ryoma was touching them, no matter how indirectly.

Small hands strained against his shoulders, their intent to push him away, to escape confinement. Desperation fueled her actions. Her knee rose, her spine arched, her body twisted. And when pushing at his shoulders proved futile, Sakuno did something she never did before. Her hands fisted and she pounded him with them. She was not a violent girl, but he was bringing it out of her. Weeks of pent up frustration were channeling itself through Sakuno's fists. He had crushed her heart, humiliated her in front of others, and now he was manhandling her! He had another thing coming if he thought she was going to just take it.

The cat eyed boy blinked at the deluge of pummels. She was hitting him! Muffled thumps vibrated in the air as thwack after thwack connected. _What the hell? _This mere slip of a girl, who couldn't hit a tennis ball, was _hitting him_.

"Stop that," Ryoma hissed.

"Get off of me!"

Her words rained on deaf ears. All Ryoma could register was that she was very angry, very unstable, and if those knees of hers had better aim, it wasn't going to be pretty. So Ryoma did the only thing he could think of. He immobilized her. Scooting down her body, he straddled her thighs. She struggled, but his weight kept her legs pressed. Then he parried her fists and pinned them on either side of her face.

Her wrists were slim and his hands were slick from a combination of sweat and rainwater, but he was not letting go. Ryoma clasped Sakuno tighter, cursing. She was slipperier than Karupin when his cat was evading a bath.

"Damnit, you're making this harder than it has to be."

"Let me go!"

"Yada. Not until you listen to what I have to say."

It was unintentional, but his grasp had tightened with each comment. Sakuno winced in the dark. She averted her face and scrunched her eyes shut. Rapid breaths escaped through clenched teeth. Her heart thudded wildly against her sternum.

"You're hurting me," she whimpered, eyebrows knitted in pain. Her hands felt like they were throbbing from the lack of blood. Sakuno struggled futilely, trying to disengage his hold. It had never occurred to her that someone so slight could possess so much physical strength. Ryoma wasn't much taller than her. How could he be this strong?

"You're hurting me too," he retorted.

The young girl paused her struggles at his accession. Oh, no. He was not going to turn the tables around on her. He was the one pinning her down. He was the one manhandling her. She was the victim here. Not him.

Eyebrows furrowed as she expressed her disbelief.

At her derisive huff, he directed one manacled hand against his body. Small, delicate fingers splayed over the smooth expanse of flesh. A hot blush marred her cheeks as her unwilling hand caressed him. The warmth of his naked skin seeped into her palm.

"D-don't," she whispered, voicing her dissent. The blush traversed down to her throat and shoulders. What was he doing? Why was he making her touch him like this?

He paid her no heed and continued on, forcing her hand upon his body.

"Ryoma-kun!" she exclaimed, scandalized beyond bearing. The pigtailed girl shook her head, all the while trying to retract her hand from his unrelenting grip.

Sakuno could no longer feel the rough concrete against her back, the gritty dust clinging to her damp hair, or the frigid atmosphere. All she could sense was Ryoma. The press of his weight upon her. The smell of him against her body. The texture of his pants against her bared thighs. Sakuno was suddenly very aware of how their scuffle had ridden up the thin shirt she was wearing, and how it was no longer covering as much of her as she wished.

Her knees instinctively clamped together. With painful clarity, she registered every place of her body he was touching. Fear, white hot and scorching, thrummed through her veins. She was suddenly very afraid of what he wanted to do with her.

Her arms stiffened, trying to fight his will. She was no match for the boy's blunt strength though. His grip tightened with determination. There was a point he wanted to get across to her, and this was the only way.

And then it stopped. He no longer drew her hand across his torso.

Sakuno blinked. _What..?_

Ryoma had placed her hand right over his heart.

"You're hurting me right here," he emphasized, driving the meaning home by thumping her hand against himself.

Sakuno laid there, unmoving. Her thoughts spun. Her hand was lying upon his chest. She could register the strong, rapid contractions beneath her touch. Her body went slack with surprise, the tension leaving her. She was hurting his heart? But she had done nothing to warrant such a concession. If anything, that was her line. He was the one who shattered her affections.

She shook her head, incomprehensive.

Ryoma heaved a silent sigh. Why was she making this so difficult? It was already hard enough conceding his feelings. Why couldn't she get it? Weren't girls supposed to be better at grasping symbolism? There was no dodging it. He would have to suck it up and tell her. The girl was so slow; she would not be able to understand any other way.

Ryoma leaned down slowly, testing the waters. Her lack of resistance made the decision to release her an easy one. His hands rubbed against her wrists in a silent apology, massaging the circulation back before he released them altogether and linked their fingers. His nose nuzzled the side of her face until his lips sought their query. Soft, slightly wet bangs tickled her temple.

"Ryuzaki," Ryoma whispered in her ear. His breath was hot and gentle. Sakuno shivered from the contact.

"I like you."


End file.
